


Girl On Fire

by NernersHuman



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Awkward Cullen Rutherford, Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, F/M, Family Member Death, Friendship, Regret, Romance, Self-Doubt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-05 21:26:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16818766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NernersHuman/pseuds/NernersHuman
Summary: Tara Trevelyan was a young woman wandering through life, trudging through grief, wondering if she would ever find her place in the world. The events of the Conclave seem to have answered that question for her.Cullen Rutherford is a man who commands respect, but the person who respects him the least is himself. Bearing his own shame and doubt, he grasps at the Inquisition as the path in which he can finally redeem himself.  He does not expect to fall in love.There will be some violence in this work, but I must admit writing it isn't exactly my forte. The focus will primarily be about the relationships that develop through the story, be they romantic, friendships, and everything in between. Yes, there will be explicit sexual content, and I will tag when the time comes.





	1. She Will Live

**Author's Note:**

> This story is picking up immediately after the events of Haven. Obviously, a great deal of this is my own personal interpretation of what could have happened, and perhaps some wishful thinking? I will divert from canon somewhat from time to time. 
> 
> This was intended as Dual POV, but so far I'm finding myself speaking in Cullen's voice more.
> 
> If you would like to follow me on Tumblr and read some of my Sims stories, my name there is also nernershuman. 
> 
> Nerner is my cat, so you can probably understand why I like Tumblr, lol.

_At that precise moment, it was difficult for Tara Trevelyan to not feel like she got the shit end of the stick._

_Haven was gone, buried by an enormous avalanche, an avalanche she had no choice but to cause. Corypheus was onto her scent, onto the scent of everyone she felt honor-bound to protect._

_As the beast dangled her by her left wrist high in the air, ready to destroy, she knew what had to be done. With a swing of her body and a prayer to the Maker, she managed to slam her foot into the tightly wound trebuchet. As the menacing rumble of the avalanche moved towards them, she lost consciousness._

_The next thing she remembered was waking up in what appeared to be a massive cavern of snow. What direction she should go in, she had no idea._

_Time lost all meaning as she trudged forward through the snow, her thin leather gloves providing little protection as she scrabbled her way through massive walls of white. After a while, the cold made her so numb she could barely feel it anymore. Every movement she made seemed to be through thick, gluey mud. She thanked the Maker there was snow she could eat to keep her body going, but hunger still gnawed at her like an impatient child._

_She could no longer discern whether it was day or night. Her heartbeat slowed, her breathing became shallow. Her spirit was breaking. All she wanted was an ending._

**Timothy...please. I need to be with you. I can’t take this anymore. I want to be at the Maker’s side. I want to be at your side. Please, help me.**

**It’s not time, Tara.**

**Timothy, please! I just want to die.**

**You have much left to do. People are counting on you. The love of your life is counting on you. Losing you would break him. Keep moving forward. You’re almost there.**

_Freezing tears streaming down her face, Tara moved forward. In a short time, she reached a clearing in the woods. A dozen or so yards ahead, the light of a massive bonfire glowed._

_Could it be real or a cruel figment of her cold-addled imagination?_

_A male and female voice boomed across the plain of silence._

_“It’s her!”_ _  
_

_“Oh, thank the Maker!”_

_Tara’s body swayed, the weight of relief mixed with sorrow and terror of what she had endured finally overwhelming her. She collapsed to her knees, head bowed._

**Timothy...I did it.**

**I knew you would, Tara. I’m proud of you.**

_Tara felt her body being swept up into powerful arms. “Maker, you’re half-frozen,” Cullen fretted as her cheek burrowed into the thick fur of his mantle. “Cassandra, find Mother Giselle and as many healers as you can! Now!” Nodding rapidly, Cassandra ran back towards the camp._

**The love of your life is counting on you...losing you would break him.**

_Fighting the sleep threatening to overwhelm her, Tara opened her eyes and studied Cullen. His gaze was fixed firmly ahead, his jaw set determinedly as he carried her towards the safety of the camp. In spite of his stoic countenance, Tara spotted the real fear in his eyes._

_“Cullen…”_

_Stopping in his tracks, the Inquisition’s Commander looked down at Tara. “Herald…”_

_“I’m happy to see you.”_

_A light of affection filled his honey-colored eyes. “Not as happy as I am to see you,” he replied fondly._

_Tara managed a half-grin. Then she fell back into unconsciousness._

_Cullen broke into a run as he felt Tara grow limp in his arms. She couldn’t die._

_Mother Giselle was waiting at the entrance of the camp, surrounded by a retinue of mages. “Maker’s Breath!” she exclaimed when she caught sight of Tara’s blue-tinged complexion and bloodless lips. “Put her here, Commander,” she ordered in her strong Orlesian accent, pointing to a cot in the makeshift infirmary. No sooner had Cullen gently placed her on the cot then Tara was surrounded by healer mages, removing her gloves and boots. “Frostbite,” one of them muttered as they examined her frozen hands. “Maker knows how much snow she had to dig through,” another mused._

_Dorian came running from another part of the camp, Vivienne, Sera, and Bull at his heels. “Warm her slowly! You warm her too fast you’ll stop her heart!” he barked at the mages surrounding the Herald, a panicked tone in his normally carefully modulated voice. Vivienne placed a warning hand on his arm._

_“Lord Pavus, the healers know what they are doing,” Mother Giselle replied gently but firmly._

_The healers surrounded Tara in a circle, wisps of green healing magic flowing from their fingers into her body. Mother Giselle stood over them, combining encouragement for the mages with prayers to the Maker that their gifts would be enough to save the Herald._

_Cullen stood rigidly, his arms folded tightly to his chest. If he were a man inclined towards self-analysis, he’d know the gesture was a form of self-soothing, a way of holding himself together. Maker, he’d never met a woman like Tara Trevelyan in his life. The first time he saw her, he felt something like a tiny jolt of lightning coursing through his body. He had just approached Cassandra to praise her for finding a way to close the fade rift, and Cassandra said it was the prisoner._

_His eyes moved past Cassandra to see the prisoner for the first time. She was tall for a woman, nearly his own height. Her skin was the palest he’d ever seen, even lighter than the fine parchment Josephine used to take her fastidious notes. Her eyes were slightly tilted and the most unique color, not quite blue, not quite green. Did he think perhaps the shade was called aquamarine? He wasn’t sure. In sharp contrast to her skin, her hair was jet black, hanging to her waist._

_Even though she was currently disheveled and exhausted and spattered with blood and ichor of who knew what form of darkspawn, Cullen thought she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen._

_The woman returned his gaze levelly, not averting her eyes in any kind of show of deference. He thought he saw a hint of bewilderment in her eyes as to the circumstances she had found herself him. However, her jaw was set confidently, her full lips in a defiant pout. He had to admire her seeming fearlessness._

_“Commander Cullen Rutherford, this is Lady Tara Trevelyan, only daughter of Bann Trevelyan of Ostwick...she is the sole survivor of the Conclave.” Cassandra’s voice was steady, but there was also underlying weariness and grief at the loss of many people she knew well, most especially Divine Justinia._

_Trevelyan. She was of noble birth. Not the type of woman who would ever normally look at Cullen twice._

_“Lady Trevelyan…” He gave her a slight bow._

_And then she smiled, sending a chill up his spine. “My mother is Lady Trevelyan. You can call me Tara.” He felt the blush start to creep into his cheeks as her smile gradually widened…_

_The voice of a mage snapped him out of his reverie. “She’s feeling warmer!” Shaking his head to clear it, Cullen looked at Tara. Indeed, she seemed to have lost the waxy, death-like pallor she had when he first had scooped her into his arms. The color was slowly returning her lips and cheeks._

_Dorian stepped through the ring of mages to place two fingers at the base of Tara’s throat. “Her pulse is strong. What about her hands?” One of the healers lifted Tara’s hand for the Tevinter’s inspection. It too seemed to be mending. “Excellent work,” Dorian commented, nodding appreciatively at the healers._

_Vivienne and Cassandra heaved deep sighs of relief. Sera’s face broke into a wide smile and she leaned her head against Bull’s ample chest. He patted her back gently._

_“We didn’t want to leave her,” Bull began, his rumbling voice filling the space around him, “We wanted to fight with her, to take down whatever it was out there. She made us run and follow the rest of you. She took that...thing on by herself. Anyone who still thinks she caused the Conclave explosion after that can go fuck themselves.”_

_Cullen stared at the ground, realizing the enormity of what he had asked of Tara. Not only had Corypheus seen her, but he also had very nearly killed her. And she’d done it so the rest of Haven could get to safety. The fact she was in front of them now was a testament to the fact that the Maker was protecting her._

_“She sleeps, spirit sound, frame frozen.” Cole crept into the circle stealthily, winding his way towards the cot. Kneeling at the side of it, the peculiar young man gazed at Tara, the brim of his large hat obscuring his face from the others. “The cold...so cold...an endless path of white.”_

_His voice took on a different timbre, almost sounding panicked. “Timothy, Timothy, please! I just want to die, cannot take another step. Timothy, I need you, please!”_

_Bull and Sera stared at one another in shock, mouths agape as Cole continued, his voice altering yet again, lowering in pitch, becoming a soothing croon. “Tara, it’s not time, not time. You have much to do. Losing you would break him.”_

_Cullen’s head snapped up. He stared at Cole, wondering if he was looking at an angel or a real-life demon._

_Cole rose back up. “Timothy, I did it.” Lifting his head, he turned his watery blue gaze over to Cullen, who felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. “She will live.” With that, he left the group and moved back over to the side of the dying Chancellor Roderick as if nothing had happened._

_Finally, Cassandra broke the silence. “Who is Timothy? A lover?”_

_“Timothy was Timothy Trevelyan,” Bull replied, folding his ample arms across his equally ample chest, “He was Tara’s twin brother.” His voice trailed off, seemingly uncertain of what to say next._

_Dorian continued where Bull left off. “Timothy was a mage, at Ostwick Circle. When the Circles fell, he didn’t go home. He went to the Hinterlands with a group of other mages. There were many idealistic ones who thought they could create some kind of Utopia there. He never made it. He was murdered. Only one member of his group survived.”_  


_Dorian’s gaze flicked over to Cullen. “Rogue templars.”_


	2. Don't Play Stupid With Me, Cully!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen thinks he will be able to pay the still-unconscious Herald an inconspicuous late-night visit. He's not that lucky.

_Needless to say, sleep was impossible for Cullen that evening. He had difficulty even on a good night, but now closing his eyes and drifting off seemed like a distant fantasy, one he’d not relive for a good while, if ever._

_He had known that when the Circles fell, many templars had taken off after the fleeing mages. As for himself, there had been so much chaos in Kirkwall after the Chantry explosion his conscience would not allow him to follow. There was simply too much to do to restore order in the city that had been ripped apart by a single act._

_While he never really said it out loud, he knew that another significant reason he stayed in Kirkwall was to atone. He had been warned multiple times about Knight-Commander Meredith’s descent into madness; by Orsino, by Anders, even by the Champion of Kirkwall himself. The Champion had even revealed that King Alistair had indicated his belief Meredith was the greatest threat that Kirkwall had. And somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind, he’d known they were correct._

_It was only until the Chantry explosion and ensuing battle that he’d realized the depths of Meredith’s insanity._

_The fog had lifted from his brain, a fog that had begun after the horrors of Kinloch Hold and continued to blind him throughout his years in Kirkwall. It was as if he was seeing everything anew, and recognizing his role in it._

_He had been wrong._

_Meredith had been wrong,_

_The Chantry had been wrong._

_Of course, he knew the word wrong was a gross understatement. Mages had suffered unnecessarily under many of his fellow templars and he had turned a blind eye to it. He didn’t want to admit to himself that what he had endured at Kinloch Hold had taken hold of his rational mind and made his fear and paranoia towards them that much more intense. Meredith had immediately picked up on this and never failed to plant even more fear in his mind._

_By the time Cassandra had approached him, he had reached the end of his tether. The guilt was eating him alive, and he thought perhaps he could find a new sense of purpose with the Inquisition._

_What Cullen had not counted on was Tara Trevelyan, the most fascinating woman he had ever met._

_It was more than just physical attraction, although she had occupied many of his late night fantasies since they had first met. It was the woman herself. She was of noble birth but seemed indifferent to it. He had heard she had spent the last few years roaming much of Thedas alone, with nothing more than a pack and her daggers. Cassandra reported that she had never seen a rogue fight with such utter ferocity._

_But it was what he had witnessed at Haven was the thing that had thoroughly entranced him. She spoke to everyone, no matter what job they held, no matter what their race or station in life and treated them as an equal. She asked Varric about Kirkwall and his writing. She asked Cassandra about her life as a seeker. She sat at Dorian’s feet listening to his endless stories of Tevinter and his various travels, and she sat a long time because Lord Pavus loved nothing more than talking about himself. She even took Chancellor Roderick’s enmity in stride, shrugging off the cleric’s accusations._

_And as for Cullen, she just talked to him. Asked him about himself, how he’d gotten there, what it had been like to become a templar. He’d been as honest as possible without revealing too much, and he could tell she understood he was holding back, but she didn’t press the issue. Instead, she would flirt with him, and grin widely as the red crept into his cheeks._

_Finding out what had happened to her brother had sent Cullen into a maelstrom of self-doubt. He knew that rogue templars were inevitable, many had been indoctrinated to harbor the same fear and hostility he had been, and when all the mages fled, many had let that rage boil over and they ran to the cities and the countryside to hunt mages down for nothing more than to let the rage and fear they had felt for so long explode into bloody retribution. Of course, he was certain many of the templars would not have access to lyrium, which would only make the madness and potential for bloodshed that much worse._

_To know that it was a templar who had taken Tara’s brother filled him with as much guilt as if it had been he who had taken the sword up himself and killed the Ostwick mages._

_If only he had spoken up sooner…_

_With a growl of discontent, he swung his legs over the cot and rose; sleep was not coming for him that night. Even if it had, Maker knows how bad the nightmares would be._

_Dressing quickly, he stepped out of the tent and was hit with a blast of frigid air. Gritting his teeth, he pulled his cloak around him tighter and made his way to the infirmary. Mother Giselle had indicated that Tara had been through tremendous physical stress and would likely sleep for a couple of days, but still, he had to see her, reassure himself that she was truly alive._

_As he approached where she lay, he was surprised to see Sera sitting at her bedside. He knew Tara had become close friends with the elven rogue in a short time, preferring to be around people who didn’t stand on ceremony and spoke plainly, if not bluntly. That seemed to be a quality Sera had in spades._

_Sera didn’t notice him at first as she was holding a comb and intent on the task of untangling Tara’s waist-length black hair. She worked with a gentleness Cullen did not think she would have possessed, holding the hair above the knotted area while she worked the tangle out, smoothing the hair over Tara’s shoulder as she worked section by section._

_Finally, she looked up. “Oh, hey Cully!” she chirped cheerfully, a devilish glint in her eye. Sera never called people by their titles. Cullen wasn’t really offended by it; on the contrary, he found it rather charming. He wished he could say that about all of Sera’s quirks, but you took what you could get, he supposed._

_“Is Mother Giselle sleeping?” he inquired._

_“Yeah. The old lady was exhausted, I told her I’d stay with TT while she got some rest.”_

_Cullen raised a quizzical brow. “TT?”_

_“TT-Tara Trevelyan,” Sera replied as if Cullen were a bit thick in the head. She said she and all her brothers have T names, yeah? Her parents like all...allit..something.”_

_“Alliteration,” Cullen informed the elf, surprised at how much more Sera seemed to know about the Herald than he did. If he were being honest, it made him more than a little jealous._

_“Yeah, that. Thomas, Tamerlane, Toby, Timothy, and Tara. Tamerlane Trevelyan, that’s a mouthful, eh? She says they call him Tam.” She picked up the comb again, checking for any stray tangles. “What are you doing here anyway, Cully? Seems like you should be sleeping so you have the energy to figure out where the Inquisition is supposed to live, yeah?”_

_Always right to the point. “I...can't sleep,” he confessed, resting his hands on the pommel of his sword as was his habit, “I wanted to see how the Herald was.”_

_Sera gave him a half grin like she knew something he didn’t. “She woke up for a minute or two, drank some water, then passed out again. She didn’t say anything.” Finally satisfied with her detangling success, Sera put the comb aside, smoothing Tara’s hair with her hands. “It’s pretty, innit?”_

_“Is what pretty?” Cullen shot back, flustered._

_“Tara’s hair. It’s pretty.”_

_Cullen looked down at the hair in question. It shone like silk against Tara’s white skin. “Yes, yes it is.” He wanted to touch it, so much so that he had to will himself to keep his hands firmly on his pommel._

_“If you want to touch her hair, Cully, I promise I’ll keep your secret.”_

_“What? No!” Maker, between the mysterious, apparently mind-reading Cole and this one, he was really going to lose it. “I can’t do that.”_

_“Why not?”_

_“She’s unconscious. It...wouldn’t be proper.”_

_Sera rolled her eyes. “You’re going to touch her hair, not mount her, for feck’s sake. Besides, if you tried more, I’d put an arrow through your eye, yeah?”_

_Of that, Cullen had no doubt. Tara seemed to inspire that protectiveness in people. “Sera...I would rather touch the Herald when she is able to tell me she would like me to touch her.” No sooner had the words escaped his lips that he realized he had said way, way too much. Curse that elf for already embarrassing him with her “mounting.”_

_Sera’s eyes lit up and she bounced up and down in her chair excitedly. “Knew it! I bleedin’ well knew it! Bull owes me a sovereign.” She looked exceedingly proud of herself._

_Cullen knew he was going to regret asking for elaboration but couldn’t help himself. “What did you know, Sera?” he queried._

_“That you like Tara! You LIKE her!”_

_“I think everyone here likes the Herald, Sera.” He hoped playing dumb would get her to stop, and also that Tara wouldn’t wake up at that exact moment._

_“But you LIKE her and don’t play stupid with me, Cully. Everyone has seen your puppy eyes when you look at her, and they’ve wanted to tell you to roll your tongue back into your mouth when she walks away from you. Don’t even try to hide it. I know, Bull knows, Dorian knows, Vivienne knows, and Cassandra knows, even though she’d die before admitting it. Trying to pretend she’s above gossip, that one. I know about those dirty books she reads. Pfft.”_

_He could have protested, continued to argue, but ultimately he knew that would be pointless. Sera, and apparently everyone else, seemingly had him dead to rights. “Fine, Sera. My affection for the Herald goes beyond just being her friend. And what would you propose I do about it?” It must have been the stress, the headache that hadn’t left him for days, but there he was asking an overly facetious, teenage elven rogue for love advice. Is this what his life had come to?_

_Sera once again gave him the thick-headed look. “Don’t be daft. You tell her.”_

_Now it was Cullen’s turn to roll his eyes. “Just like that?”_ _  
_

_“Just like that.”_

_“It’s not that easy, Sera.”_

_“It IS that easy, Cully. I told her when I thought she might like girls. Turns out she didn’t like girls that way, but I still gathered up my nuts and told her.”_

_Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes shut. “Sera, do you realize what comes out of your mouth sometimes?”_

_“I know what comes out of my mouth ALL of the time, Cully. I say what I feel. You don’t say what you feel, you don’t get what you want. Don’t dodge the subject. You command a feckin’ ARMY, and you can’t even tell one woman that you like her. What’s that about?”_

_“I understand combat, I understand commanding an army, Sera! I don’t understand THIS!” He waved his arms around to emphasize his point. “I’ve been in the Chantry since I was thirteen years old! Andraste’s tits, what do I know about dealing with women? I barely spoke to the two women I actually DID have sex with in my life!”_

_The words seemed to hang in the air like a cloud of vapor. Sera’s brows rose so high they nearly disappeared under her choppy fringe._

_Okay, well, now his life was over. Forget the hole in the sky, was there a pit of darkspawn nearby he could throw himself into? A pack of rabid nugs to maul him? Anything to get out of this conversation in which he kept revealing way too much of himself to someone he wasn’t certain could be trusted to keep it private._

_To her credit, Sera didn’t laugh. Just let out this really odd cough. “And you just asked ME if I understood what came out of MY mouth? Shite, Cully. You’ve been holding that in for years, haven’t you? I must have one of those faces that people think they can come up and start spilling their guts in my lap.” She looked down and lightly threaded her fingers through Tara’s hair. “For what it’s worth, TT likes you too. She doesn’t just mindlessly flirt with any man who crosses her path. But that’s all I’m going to say about that. When she wakes up, just TALK to her. Also, your secret is safe with me. I can be a gossipy tit, but I can also keep my mouth shut when I need to. And trust me, I don’t think this is a secret you want to get out, yeah?”_

_Cullen shook his head emphatically in spite of the pain, “Maker, no. I would not. To see something like that in Varric’s next book…”_

_Sera shrugged. “Shite happens, Cully. I don’t know your whole story, but it doesn’t seem like you had the time to be a man about town. And from what Varric has said about Knight-Commander Meredith...shite, that would be enough to turn any man off their feed.” Her snub nose scrunched in distaste. “I can’t imagine dealing with a shrew like that and then trying to feel amorous, yeah? Did she really turn herself into a statue?”_

_Cullen shook his head a little, trying to process Sera’s rapid-fire verbosity. “Um, yes. The red lyrium in her sword invaded her body, destroyed her. I tried to avoid looking at it the entire time I remained in Kirkwall, but because it was in the middle of the Gallows, it was nearly impossible to get past. I...I’m not entirely comfortable discussing more than that, Sera.”_

_It wasn’t just an issue of discomfort, it was more that he had no idea how he could even begin to express the shame he felt. And as much as he may have liked Sera, there was no way the young woman would have understood._

_Tara moved at that point, startling them both. Her body moved from side to side slightly, adjusting her position. A deep sigh escaped her lips. Her hand wandered upwards, to her neckline, where she pulled out a silver chain that held a thick silver ring with a blue stone, obviously made for a male hand. She seemed to calm as her hand wrapped around it, and she slept calmly once again._

_“Timothy’s ring,” Sera said, answering the question before Cullen even asked it. She stroked a stray hair from Tara’s face. “The only person to survive in their group was Timothy’s lover. They found out what happened to Timothy and the others when he showed up at their estate, looking like he crawled out of the Dark City. He brought them Timothy’s staff and ring, then collapsed in their foyer. Nearly died himself.”_

_Cullen’s headache seemed to grow in intensity, a thousand hammers against his skull. He closed his eyes wearily, shaking his head slightly._

_“Not your fault, Cully.”_

_“It feels like it.”_

_Sera heaved an exasperated sigh. “Well, it’s not, and Tara doesn’t think it is either. Have some sense, will ya? She knows you were a templar, and she’s still talking to you, yeah? She doesn’t blame you. For feck’s sake, why don’t you just start wearing a hair shirt under that armor if you’re so into punishing yourself?”_

_He pinched the bridge of his nose again. “I have a great deal to atone for from my time as a templar, Sera,” he replied wearily, “I looked away when I could have stopped many injustices from happening to mages. My own fears ruled me. That is not how a templar should be, ever.”_

_Sera leaned forward, elbows on knees, staring at the ground thoughtfully. “Maybe not, but you’re also a human being, Cully. If all templars held themselves up to the ideal, there wouldn’t have been a Mage/Templar war, yeah? The way I see it, you’re ‘atoning’ by the work you’re doing here now.”_

_Cullen sat down at the edge of Tara’s cot, watching her chest rise and fall, her hand wrapped around her brother’s ring. “I’m trying, Sera. I will never be entirely comfortable around most mages. I have seen too much go wrong to not be on my guard. But...I realize now that most mages are merely trying to comprehend their magic and use it wisely. It is so easy to place them all in one category, but it wasn’t right of me or any of us in the Order to do so. “_

_Like most stories, there was much, much more to Cullen’s, but he was not going to share it with Sera, as much as he liked her. It was too painful, too intensely personal. It had been excruciating enough to tell Cassandra. And when Tara awoke, he knew he’d have to tell her as well. He desperately needed her to understand._

_“Cully…”_

_“Yes, Sera?”_

_“Just touch her hair.”_

_“Do you...really think it’s alright to do that?”_

_“Cully, I just took what seemed like an entire rat’s nest of tangles out of that mop on her head. Touch it to tell me what a good job I did, yeah?”_

_With a light chuckle, Cullen pulled off his glove. Slowly, as if he expected the hair to snap at him, he let his fingertips gently brush the black strands. They felt smooth and silky under his skin, like black ribbons._

_Feeling braver, he crooked his fingers slightly and combed through the strands. There was not a tangle to be found, only blissful softness. He felt calmer already._

_“See? I do good work, right?” He’d almost forgotten Sera was there._

_Cullen tore his eyes away from the Herald and gave the elf a small smile. “You do excellent work, Sera.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sera is an awesome character to write, and I really hope I did her justice. I feel like she's a lot wiser than people give her credit for. Also, I feel like she is just one of those personalities who interact with the Commander of an army with what would be considered inappropriate familiarity and said Commander would be completely fine with it.
> 
> And in my HC, Cullen has only had two sexual partners in his life. I just can't picture him hitting the brothels on the reg as some of the other templars did.


	3. Well, No Reason Why This Should Be Awkward...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the Inquisition now safely ensconced at Skyhold, Cullen decides it's time to have a discussion with the newly anointed Inquisitor. Not that he's nervous about it or anything.
> 
> He learns more than he ever thought he would.

_Cullen stood at the battlements outside his office, staring down at the courtyard of Skyhold. They had only been at the Elven-made castle a few weeks, but everyone seemed to be hard at work making improvements, beautifying the grounds, and overall making the ancient structure more functional._

_It was a miracle that Solas had even known of the place. They had been at their wits end in the makeshift camp. He, Cassandra, Leliana, and Josephine seemed to be able to do nothing but snap at one another, unable to make a decision on how the Inquisition needed to proceed. Maker knew that they wouldn’t be able to continue on long-term on what was basically a temporary campsite._

_After one such heated exchange between the four of them, they had all separated in order to cool off. The tension could be cut with a knife. No one had been paying much attention to the infirmary._

_The tension was broken by a rustling at the infirmary tent. To the shock of everyone, Tara Trevelyan walked out into the chill._

_The Herald of Andraste._

_Awake. Alive. Defying all the odds._

_She said nothing, her intense gaze moving to each of the advisors, stopping last on Cullen. He felt those blue eyes reach into him, search his soul, strip him bare. He felt pinned where he stood._

_After a moment, the strong, clear voice of Mother Giselle was singing, “The Dawn Will Come.” No, it was not the beautiful refined singing of a Chantry choir, but it was powerful and clearly heartfelt. It was if she had felt the despair, the feeling of powerlessness overcoming everyone in the camp. Their home had been destroyed, many had been lost. They still had nowhere to go._

_But the words in that simple little song, could they allow them to move forward for another day?_

_Voices began to join the Mother’s as she slowly stepped out of the infirmary, a serene smile on her face._

_Cullen felt as if he were witnessing a rebirth as Tara moved over to stand next to Mother Giselle. She was still paler than normal but she stood steady, a slightly bewildered look on her face as she took in the singing people around her._

_Among the singing, another word slowly began to wind its way through the crowd._

**_Inquisitor._ **

_Tara’s eyes widened as people began to kneel before her. Not sure what to do exactly, she gave each person a small nod._

_Eventually, her eyes again met Cullen’s._

_He knew what he wanted to do._

_He wanted to sweep her in his arms and not let go. He wanted to tell her what a miracle she was, for everyone there. He wanted to express his joy that she had come back to them. He wanted to hold her and touch her hair and plant gentle kisses on her face._

_But he didn’t. Not because he didn’t want to, Maker knows he wanted to, desperately, but because he was afraid._

_Afraid of scaring her, upsetting her. He worried that he had misheard what Sera told him. What would a beautiful, intelligent, courageous young woman like Tara Trevelyan ever see in an older, lyrium-addled, broken ex-Templar like himself?_

_He couldn’t bring himself to make a step. Instead, he smiled at her, hoping it would show her something of what he felt for her._

_Tara returned his smile, a faint flush of color suffusing her cheeks. She held his stare until she was enveloped in a crushing embrace from Sera. Bull lifted her off her feet in an uncharacteristic public display of affection. And Dorian, never one to be publicly demonstrative, simply held her face in his hands for a long moment, tears standing in his eyes, before placing a kiss on her forehead._

_Cullen could feel an ugly emotion surge through him; jealousy. He knew it was likely unwarranted, considering the rumors that had been circulating about the Tevinter mage and his romantic inclinations. But still, Dorian, Sera, even Iron Bull could be open with their feelings towards the Herald, whereas Cullen continued to shut himself down._

_Finally, he made the decision to approach her. No sooner had he finally willed is feet into moving when Solas approached Tara, taking her to an area on the perimeter of the camp to speak privately. From that point, they were on the move, finally ending up at Skyhold._

_They had spoken since then when Tara had approached him in the lower courtyard while he was going over plans and requisitions. She had flirted with him again, asking if there was anyone in his life. As with the other times, he became flustered and overwhelmed._

_Sera was walking by, out of the Inquisitor’s sight, and when she spotted the exchange, began making frantic arm movements, mouthing the words “FECKIN’ SAY SOMETHING.” While he couldn’t make the statement of devotion he was certain Sera wanted, he did manage to acknowledge what Tara’s sacrifice at Haven had meant to him and everyone else and vowed that he would never allow the events of Haven to happen again. Right then, it was the closest thing to a declaration of love that he could make._

_Now, he felt as if he needed to talk with her about what had happened to her brother._

_In truth, he didn’t even know why. Several people already knew, and he wondered why he couldn’t just let it happen organically, have her tell him if and when she felt like it. Was he looking for a way to defend templars, or for some kind of personal absolution? He hadn’t been there when the murders were committed._

_Irrational as it sounded, he did feel guilty. There was a time in his life where he would have defended the Order, even if it meant dying himself. Being a templar had been all he wanted since he was a young boy. Even after the horrors of Kinloch Hold, he still was steadfast in his devotion, if not more so._

_Now his sentiments had done a complete turnaround. He understood what he had believed all his life was misguided at best, gross injustice at worst. He played a role with his own prejudice, the prejudice that still could rear its ugly head from time to time, most notably when Tara had chosen to bring the Redcliffe mages to Haven._

_He desperately needed Tara to know this wasn’t the man he wanted to be, not anymore. He wanted to try to make some kind of amends. That’s why he was with the Inquisition._

_Making his way down the stone stairs of the battlements, he strode purposefully towards the Great Hall. That was where the Inquisitor had been spending a great deal of her time._

_The vast, high-ceilinged Great Hall was still in a bit of disrepair, beams and wooden scaffolds still scattered about. Near the fireplace, Cullen spotted Tara seated at a table across from Varric, both of them intently scribbling in notebooks. Cullen came up to her side. “Ah, Inquisitor?” he asked gently, as to not startle her, “Could we speak for a moment?”_

_Tara looked up from her notebook and smiled at him. Maker, he felt his stomach fill with butterflies with those aqua blue eyes on him. “Of course, Commander,” she replied, gesturing towards a chair next to her._

_“Um... privately?” he queried, the blush already beginning to creep into his cheeks. From the other side of the table he could see Varric raise an eyebrow, a small smirk starting to play at the corners of his mouth, but to his credit, he never removed his eyes from his notebook._

_A slightly surprised look crossed Tara’s face. “Of course,” she replied, starting to look around for a spot._

_“I...believe Josephine is in a meeting right now. We can use her reception area if you wish?” Extending his slightly shaky hand, Cullen assisted her up from her chair. Varric’s grin widened._

_They didn’t speak again until both were seated in front of the fireplace in Josephine’s spacious work area. “How are you feeling, Inquisitor?” he asked, trying to not stumble over his words._

_She smirked. “I understand your need for propriety, Cullen, but when it’s just you and I, you have my express permission to call me Tara. No need to be formal all the time. To answer your question, I’m doing better. Still getting tired a bit more easily than I’d like, but I’ve been sparring with Sera and Cassandra and that’s helped a lot.”_

_“I’m pleased to hear that, Inq...Tara.” Maker, was he really this rigid?_

_“What did you want to discuss with me?” Tara asked, crossing one long leg over the other. In doing so, her notebook slid off her lap and clattered to the floor. Both of them reached for it at the same time, coming dangerously close to banging heads. Tara pulled back and let Cullen, face now likely an unflattering shade of red, to pick up the notebook and hand it to her. Removing his gloves, he rubbed his sweaty palms on his trousers._

_“When you were unconscious, there were a lot of us around you. Cole came to your side. He said some...things...he seemed almost to be speaking in your voice.” Tara’s expression didn’t change. “Forgive me, you must have already been told of this,” he bumbled, feeling stupid._

_“Dorian told me. Cole is...well, I can’t put my finger on precisely what he is, except to say that he seems to feel others pain acutely.” She toyed with a corner of her notebook. “He definitely felt mine. He knew how desperate I was, how I told Timothy I wanted to die.”_

_“I am beyond grateful to Timothy and the Maker that you didn’t die, Tara.”_

_She tilted her head and gazed at him, perhaps fondly? “They guided me. I’ve no doubt about that.” Her eyes studied the fire for a moment, then she turned back to Cullen. “I’m still not entirely certain why you wanted to speak with me alone.”_

_“I…” The words wouldn’t come out. A headache that had been at bay all morning had started to push its way to the forefront, exacerbated, no doubt, by the anxiety he was feeling. Without thinking, Cullen rubbed his temples._

_“Cullen? Are you alright?” Tara asked, a touch of concern on her face._

_He snapped back to the present. “Yes, I’m fine. Just a small headache.” He gave her what he hoped was a genuine smile, not a pained grimace. “Your brother....he was murdered by templars…” He had no idea how to continue._

_Tara raised one black brow. “Yes, he was. As I’m sure you well know, many templars decided to go after mages when the Circles fell. Ostwick fell later than most of the others. My parents begged Timothy to come home, they felt he’d be safest at the estate. He refused. He felt that as a mage, he needed to be with other mages. He, his lover Bran, his best friend Dimitri, and two others decided to go on a trek to the Hinterlands.”_

_Dimitri Tabris. Just saying his name aloud sent a jolt of pain into Tara’s heart. He and Timothy had been best friends from the time Timothy had entered the Ostwick Circle at age 9. Because of the relative laxity of the Ostwick Tower templars, Tara was able to spend a lot of time there, and she became as close to Dimitri as she was to her brother._

_Over the years, Dimitri had grown from a shy and bookish boy with long, spindly limbs to a handsome young man, tall for an elf with long chestnut hair he generally kept braided over one shoulder, revealing his delicate pointed ears. While still slender, had managed to develop some muscle as he aged. His hazel eyes were always warm and full of curiosity. They crinkled at the edges when he smiled at her. He had wanted to become a healer._

_By the time Tara was seventeen, they were close in a different way. Dimitri was her first kiss, first intimate touch, first lover. It was generally quick and surreptitious due to being in such close proximity to other mages, but it had meant something to them both. In retrospect, she knew it unlikely they would ever have had a future together, but at the time, it was a wonderful dream to counteract the grabby noble boys her mother tried to match her up with._

_Tucking her notebook next to her, Tara leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, chin on clasped hands, staring at the fire. “ Other mages were converging there; I guess to create some kind of mage society?” She gave Cullen a one-shouldered shrug. “They were in the woods near Redcliffe Farms, and they stopped to camp. Bran went to look for elfroot while the others set up camp. I don’t know if the templars had been following them, or came upon them suddenly, all I know is that they were ambushed...attacked from behind. The templars cut their throats. They didn’t even want to attempt to bring them back to the Chantry, they just wanted mages dead. Why they didn’t throw a protective glyph up beforehand I will never know.”_

_Cullen rubbed his hands together nervously. They felt cold to him, even though the room was completely warm. “There were many templars who went into the Order with the wrong ideals. Or they became conditioned to be fearful and angry towards mages. At one time, I...was no different. I turned a blind eye to so much. It is my greatest regret. Do you know what happened to the templars?” he asked, hesitantly._

_“Bran came back, saw the templars looting the camp. They didn’t see HIM, which was most unfortunate for them. Bran was a few years older than Timothy, and he is a force mage. A very powerful force mage. I guess all the lyrium in the world won’t save you when a massive fireball is headed in your general direction.” She let out a bitter chuckle. “Bran incinerated the lot of them. It was too late for everyone else, though. They were all dead.”_

_She pulled the silver chain from under her shirt and grasped the ring on it. “Bran bought this back to us, along with Timothy’s staff. He was heartbroken and felt responsible. He was the eldest, the most experienced in terms of magic. And he loved Timothy.”_

_Oh, the memory of that day. Her mother descending into hysteria, her father trying to keep his wife from complete collapse while making a valiant attempt to confront his own pain. She and Toby had been the only ones home with their parents, and Toby had stormed out of the house, leaving Tara to deal with the pain alone._

_While her father fought to subdue her overwrought mother, Tara faced Bran alone. “Dimitri?” she whispered, barely able to choke the words out. She clung to Timothy’s ring and staff as if they were the only thing to keep her from drowning in an abyss of pain._

_Bran could only shake his head, tears streaming down his freckled face. Then he collapsed. Running to find the healer to treat Bran’s dehydration and wounds kept her from facing the double amount of agony she felt. But it didn’t stay away for long._

_Dimitri was not something she was prepared to share with Cullen or anyone else for that matter._

_Silence descended upon them, for several moments the only sound was the crackling of the fire in the hearth. Cullen was stymied as to how he should proceed. The Inquisitor finally relieved his dilemma by speaking up._

_“Timothy wasn’t just my brother. He was my twin. He was the other half of me. We could finish each other’s sentences, sometimes it was like we could read one another’s thoughts. And a lot of the time, we felt the other one’s pain.” She spoke with melancholy, but there were no tears, merely...resignation. “I knew Timothy was dead before Bran even showed up to our home. I was asleep, and I got jolted awake by this searing pain across my neck, right where someone would cut you.” One of her hands reached up to rub her neck. “I felt this sensation like...draining...down the front of my shirt. Then, nothing. I put my hands up and there was no blood, no cut. I knew right away that someone killed Timothy. Part of me died as well.”_

_Cullen was at a loss for words. He had never been so tightly bonded to someone that their death would feel like a part of himself had also perished. Losing his parents to the Blight had devastated him, and the thought of losing any of his siblings filled him with dread. Although they hadn’t been in physical proximity in many years, they kept in touch and were still close. But to have a twin, someone you shared a womb with, someone who grew alongside you for each stage of life. He had heard stories of twins having exceptional bonds, but now he was getting a first-hand explanation._

_Tara turned to him suddenly. “Cullen, does this have anything to do with you having been a templar yourself? Do you think that my judgment is clouded because of what happened to Timothy?”_

_“I…” Maker. This was his worst case scenario coming to life. Why didn’t he think this through? Of course, that was the conclusion Tara would draw. He should never have attempted to force this conversation. “Forgive me, Tara. I should never have initiated this…” He moved to stand up, and she grabbed his wrist. He couldn't help but be impressed at the tightness of her grip._

_“Wait a minute. You don’t get to just walk away, Cullen. To make things perfectly clear, I chose the mages over the templars because of the magic involved and because I felt they would have a better understanding of how to counteract things. The mages may have been under the influence of the Venatori at Redcliffe, but the templars have hardly been impervious to suggestion where Corypheus is involved. You saw that army of them bearing down on Haven. That’s the first thing.”_

_Cullen jerked back as if she’d slapped him, but he knew she was right. The fact that Samson, a man he once shared quarters and templar duty with was standing alongside Corypheus at Haven made him sick to his stomach. The fact that an army of templars were backing them made him even sicker inside._

_Seeing the very real anguish on his face made Tara’s expression soften, but her grip on his wrist did not. “Secondly, if you think that my impressions of you are somehow affected by what happened to Timothy at the hands of templars, you are mistaken. I met and liked Cullen Rutherford, the man.”_

_“You...asked me about being a templar,” he pointed out quietly._

_“Because I was curious to know your personal experience. It seems to have been mixed at best. I only knew the templars at Ostwick, and let’s face it, they had a much easier job of it than most of the other Circles.” She shrugged. “I’m not going to ask you to elaborate further; it’s not my place. However, I do know more about you than you may think I do.”_

_Cullen stared at her in surprise. “What does that mean?” he asked warily, not sure if she was trying to trap him somehow, then lambasted himself for thinking that._

_Tara let go of his wrist, not before stroking the top of his hand with one finger. “I know how you tried to stand up against Meredith in Kirkwall. My best friend was there. That’s how I know you aren’t like the others.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added some embellishment to the "The Dawn Will Come" scene. I wanted to convey other reactions. Also, I tend to write the Ostwick Circle as being pretty liberal, not quite the Playboy Mansion of the Circles, but close. :P
> 
> And who is Tara's mysterious best friend?


	4. Evolution of a Rogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen discovers the identity of Tara's best friend and the role he played in shaping the Inquisitor.
> 
> Also, he's awkward. We're hoping he gets over that.

_ Cullen racked his brain to try to recall a night that he generally spent most of his time trying desperately to forget. The only Kirkwall person that he knew he and Tara had in common was Varric Tethras, and it was clear that Tara had never met Varric until she ended up with the Inquisition. He knew there was a lot of ancillary people present, friends of the Champion outside of his companions, citizens, templars and mages. It all blurred together into one singular horror that haunted his dreams as much as Kinloch Hold ever had. _

_ “Tara, I’m not sure who this would be, or if I would even know them,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously. _

_ The Inquisitor shrugged slightly. “You may not know him by name, but I’d venture to guess you’d know his face or his voice. He definitely knows you. He recognized you the minute you held your sword up against the Knight-Commander.” _

_ “How do you know this mysterious person?” _

_ “He saved my life,” she revealed, beginning to unfold the story. _

_ **Three Years Earlier** _

_Ferelden was a great deal more woodland than Tara had remembered._

_Dense forests, cut through with streams of impossibly clear water, it was staggeringly beautiful, but with that beauty came great danger. Gigantic bears, wolves, all manner of raiders and robbers and various and sundry unsavory folk, Tara had begun to wonder if she’d bitten off far more than she could chew._

_Timothy and Dimitri had only died a month prior, and she could no longer tolerate being in Ostwick. Everything was a reminder of her lost twin. Her mother had taken to her bed and no one could get her to leave the bedchamber. Her father swallowed his pain and wandered around stoically, the twitch in his jaw the only thing that betrayed him. Her surviving brothers threw themselves into work at the Chantry, well, except for Toby, who just grabbed his pack and longbow and left, not telling anyone where he was going._

_Finally, Tara had enough and crept out into the night. She knew it wasn’t the right thing to do, but at the time, her grief was so overwhelming and she felt she had no place she could let it out in Ostwick, as the rest of the family were either catatonic or steadfastly avoiding the topic._

_All she carried she could fit on her back. Timothy’s ring was placed on a heavy silver chain, and she kept it hidden under her clothing, close to her heart. For safety, she had a single dagger. Growing up with four brothers meant she had been taught from a young age how to fight, and she felt confident she could handle most situations._

_ When she reached the Hinterlands, she started to feel that perhaps she had been a bit overconfident in her original assessment.  _

_ Night had fallen, and Tara had built a small camp in the thick of the woods, but she felt it unlikely that she would be sleeping. She desperately wanted to get to the nearest city to see if she could sell some of the valuables she had brought with her. She no longer needed nor wanted them, except for Timothy’s ring.  _

_ A twig snapped, jolting her to attention. Grabbing her dagger, she spun in the direction of the noise and was faced with a single man. Taller than her, clad in grubby clothing, clearly traveling for an indeterminate amount of weeks, and smelled like he hadn’t bathed in that amount of time. Probably would have been attractive with some soap and water. _

_ “Well, well, what do we have here?” he leered, baring his teeth in a grin that looked more predatory than pleasant. “What is a pretty young girl like you doing in the woods all alone?” _

_ With every step he made forward, she took backward. She held up the dagger as though its presence alone would protect her. Everything her brothers had taught her had flown out of her head, and what remained was the deep primal fear. Learning how to protect yourself from the safety of the family home and putting it into actual practice were two completely different things, as she was now learning. _

_ “Get...get away from me,” she snarled, hoping that the fear she felt was not coming through in her voice.  _

_ The man laughed. “You don’t have the faintest idea how to use that thing, do you, little girl?” Before she could react, he had rushed her, knocking the dagger out of her hand in one deft move. It thudded into the dirt, far out of her reach. The man pushed her against a tree, one arm across her throat. He smelled of sweat and cheap whiskey. “You know how long since I seen a woman, especially one as pretty as you?” His other hand roamed roughly over her chest, and she felt the bile start to rise in her throat. The only man who had ever touched her sexually was Dimitri, and he was far gentler than this man was being. _

_ She closed her eyes… _

_ A distinctive thud rang in her ears, and her eyes opened to see the eyes of her would-be assailant looking at her in shock before his eyes went glassy and sightless. His body slumped against hers, dead. _

_ Looking down, Tara saw a large dagger sticking out of the man’s back, clearly having gone right through his heart. In horror, she pushed his body off her and it thumped to the ground. Her head swiveled frantically around to find the dagger’s source. _

_ A short elven man stepped out from the trees in the direction the dagger had taken. He had a slight build but bore the lithe muscularity that so many elves possessed. His skin was golden, and black tattoos swirled around one of his cheekbones. His blonde hair reached his shoulders, with the sides braided back. If she hadn’t been so petrified, she probably would have found him quite handsome.  _

_ He approached slowly, not wanting to terrify the already terrified young woman further. “Are you quite alright, dear lady?” he asked as he braced one foot on the dead man’s body, bending at the waist and yanking the dagger out of him. He wiped the blade and replaced it on his back.  _

_ “Y-yes, I think so,” she replied, her body giving itself over to trembling. _

_ Taking her elbow lightly, the man led Tara back over to the fire and guided her to sit. He looked for her canteen and wordlessly directed her to drink. Finally, he sat next to her but kept a respectful distance. “As much as our recently deceased friend may have deserved his fate, he did ask a fair question of you. What is a pretty girl like you doing out here all alone?“ Tara tried to place the accent and realized it was Antivan. This man was a long way from home as well.  _

_ “I...I needed to leave home. I thought I could protect myself,” she defended lamely.  _

_ He tsked at her and pulled out his own canteen, taking a long drink. “It was as clear to me as well as the potential attacker that you hadn’t a clue on how to use that dagger. It is foolish to carry a weapon you are unable to use properly. It can be turned against you, as you saw for yourself.” His chiding was gentle, not meant to shame her, but more to make her recognize her own naivete. _

_ She stared at the fire. “I grew up with four brothers. They taught me how to fight, physically fight, wrestle, throwing punches, all of that. But when that man approached me, I saw the threat, but my body wouldn’t respond. I…” _

_ “You froze,” he finished for her, pulling out a whetstone and beginning to sharpen the dagger which he had most recently pulled from the dead man’s back. “This is not unusual. Your brothers did not have an ill intention towards you, therefore they would not hurt you seriously. Now you have seen there are people who will have very ill intentions towards you.”  _

_ She nodded, a single tear streaming down her cheek.  _

_ Putting down the whetstone, he brushed the tear from her cheek. “You will travel with me, I will teach you how to use that dagger properly. I will take you to meet some of my friends, and you will learn from them as well. I know many people who are skilled in the art of combat, Grey Wardens, former templars, members of the King’s army. You have the potential, you simply need to develop it.” He picked up the whetstone again. “Do you have a name, my lady?” _

_ “Tara. Tara Trevelyan. I’m from Ostwick.”  _

_ He nodded. “Ah, a Free Marcher, as it were. Is it true about Ostwick having a cheese-rolling contest?” _

_ She had to laugh. “Yes. Ostwick is known for its nobility and its cheese rolling.” _

_ “A shameful waste of perfectly good cheese. In any event, my name is Zevran Arainai. I originally hail from the glorious Antiva City, but I suppose everywhere is my home these days. I tend to spend a great deal of my time in Ferelden, though.” His dagger scraped across the whetstone as he spoke. “I should inform you, however, of my past career. I trust you have heard of the Antivan Crows?” His light brown eyes studied her, gauging her reaction. _

_ Tara realized she probably should be horrified, should probably run in fear. But there was something about Zevran’s demeanor that was so honest and genuine that she could not. “I have...they are assassins.”  _

_ He nodded grimly, continuing his work. “Yes. I was one of them for many years. Sold into the order at the tender age of seven. Trained to know nothing but murder. To seduce and to kill effortlessly. I was quite proficient if I do say so myself.” _

_ “What changed things?” Tara asked. _

_ His eyes took on a dreamy, somewhat faraway look. “The love of an amazing man.” Finishing his task, he replaced the dagger on his back and the whetstone in his bag. “He had faith in me when I had none in myself. He showed me there could be a real life outside the one I had known for so long. I met him seven years ago, and we remain bound to one another to this day.” _

_Tara sighed dreamily and rested her elbows on her knees. “That’s so romantic.” It made her miss Dimitri and what could have been._

_ Zevran chuckled. “It has its moments. I’m sure I have caused him to want to tear his hair out on more than one occasion. But it seems I have digressed. The reason I mention my former career is that, while the Crow Masters I worked under have met...most untimely ends over the years, every so often an ambitious upstart thinks he will be the one to finally take out the elusive Zevran Arainai. I felt it only fair to give you a warning. Now, shall we move on to a more...palatable place to camp? I try not to sleep around corpses if I can avoid it.” _

_ Thus began a two-year journey of discovery for Tara, led by the former Crow. Zevran took her all over Ferelden, Orlais, and ultimately into Antiva. During the day, he taught her to use her dagger with deadly precision, and eventually, Tara graduated up to being able to wield double-daggers. He aided her in developing her senses enough to detect a potential enemy without actually seeing them. With his tutelage she learned to parry and dodge, to implement poison when necessary and always, always use stealth. “Surprise your enemy, never allow them to surprise you, my lady.” The day she landed a dagger into the eye of an attacking raider at twenty paces was the day Zevran practically wept from pride. Eventually, she met his lover and once she got over the initial shock at who the man was, found him just as amazing as Zevran. _

_ At night they would simply talk. Zevran was a virtual wellspring of intriguing stories, from his many adventures as an Antivan Crow to his travels with the Hero of Ferelden, to the battles he had needed to fight to free himself from the Crows forever. The stories ranged from hilarious to chilling, and Tara could not help but listen with rapt attention. _

_ It was there she heard of Zevran’s involvement with the final battle at the Kirkwall Gallows. He hadn’t even been planning to go near the Free Marches, but his dear friend Isabela had contacted him, concerned that there was going to be a massive confrontation between the Kirkwall templars and mages and that the Champion would end up getting dragged into whatever happened. Gabriel Hawke had saved Zevran’s life from the Crows a few months before, so he felt any assistance he could provide was the least he could do in terms of recompense. “Of course,” he added with a deep chuckle, “I had no idea it would end up being one the most insane battles I would ever take part in.” _

_ He had only just arrived at the Gallows to see the templars and their Knight-Commander surrounding Hawke and his companions, the Knight-Commander demanding that the Champion be killed on the spot, in spite of taking the side of the templars. It was then he saw the Knight-Captain speak against her. _

_ As he crept up to Isabela’s side, it took Zevran a moment but he remembered where he had seen the young blonde man before, during that horrid night at the Kinloch Hold, where the Hero of Ferelden had rescued a traumatized young templar from the demons that had been tormenting him, found on his knees praying to the Maker, surrounded by the bodies of his fellow templars. It had been staggering to think that after those events, the Chantry had seen it fit to send the templar to a powderkeg like Kirkwall.  _

_ Knight-Captain Cullen had directly defied his superior officer to protect the Champion of Kirkwall. The other templars had taken his side. _

_ And the night exploded into red lyrium madness. _

_ **Present Day** _

_Cullen massaged his temples yet again. The name Zevran Arainai rang no bells, but the description did. He recalled little of Kinloch Hold except what haunted his dreams almost nightly, but he did have small moments of rational recall and his mind called up blonde hair, a flash of tan skin, and most specifically, a distinct Antivan accent. The first time he had spoken to the Antivan-born Josephine he had gotten the same jolt of memory and had to quickly excuse himself from the conversation and regain his composure. “I cannot say I remember him by name,” he began, rubbing his hands together anxiously, “But the voice...I recall thinking it was odd there was an Antivan in the Circle. But I never spoke with him. As for Kirkwall, it’s all still such a blur. There were so many people there. But...I am pleased to hear that someone you hold in such high esteem approved of my actions. I often feel they were too little, too late.”_

_Tara reached over and grasped his hand. “You are entirely too hard on yourself, Cullen. No one could have anticipated the events of Kirkwall; the Chantry explosion, Meredith going off the deep end, the red_ lyrium _. You stood against her madness, you stood up for the Champion. I think we always wish we had done more or made a different decision. The important thing is to keep trying to do right by others.”_

_ Cullen studied the hand grasping his own. In spite of being a tall woman, Tara’s hands were quite delicate, long-fingered and slender, but surprisingly strong. The touch gave him comfort somehow. “Does Zevran know your situation now?” he inquired, wanting to get the subject off of himself. _

_ “Yes. Zevran has...friends in high places, so he found out right away. I got a letter admonishing me for not getting in touch sooner. I expect he’ll show up here eventually.” She smiled, still looking into the fire. “He calls me hermanita, Antivan for ‘little sister.’ I really don’t know how I would have survived without him. The grief I was feeling...suffice it to say he saw me at my absolute worst.” To her great surprise, she found herself compelled to tell Cullen exactly what the former Crow had done to help her. _

_ So many nights the soul-crushing grief would become so overwhelming that all Tara could do was curl up in a ball and sob. Zevran would simply cradle her in his arms and rock her like a small child, crooning soothing words in Antivan. Sometimes the grief would explode into rage and she would scream herself hoarse and pound her fists on the nearest hard surface until she drew blood. Zevran would wrap his arms around her in a protective cocoon, holding her until she calmed, then would quietly dress her wounds.  _

_ “I...am glad you had someone to help you through, Tara, “ Cullen replied, hating the idea of her in such pain. At the same time, he felt strangely honored that she would even begin to tell him such things. “Zevran seemed to know how to get you past all of that.” _

_ Tara smiled thoughtfully, keeping her grip on his hand firm. “Zevran had endured a similar kind of grief when he was younger. He suffered for a long time as a result, until he met his lover, actually. Before that, he saw death as his only alternative. He saw the same pain in me, and he wanted to make sure I knew I wasn’t alone.” _

_ The fire popped loudly then, making Cullen jump slightly. Tara sensed the man was on edge most of the time, never letting his guard down. She could feel the loneliness radiating off him, combined with his obvious frustration at not being able to reach out to cure that condition. She hoped her tone was soothing enough to relax him. “As for getting past it...I don’t know that you ever really get past it. I think it’s more like you simply learn to live with it. It becomes a part of you always, but after a time it is no longer the sum total of who you are if that makes sense. I love Timothy. I miss him desperately, but I have been able to learn how to live with having lost him. But sometimes the pain comes back as intensely as if it had all happened yesterday. I never know what will bring it on, but it does not happen with the frequency it used to.” _

_ Her gently raspy voice washed over him like a soothing balm as she kept her hand firmly around his own. Maker, he wanted to pull off Tara’s glove and hold her hand to his lips. Was her skin as soft as he’d imagined it? What would it be like to gently kiss each one of her fingertips in turn?  _

_ A feeling was beginning to form, warmth coiling slow in his belly. _

_ Desire. _

_ He mentally cursed his traitorous body for reacting to the young woman’s simple touch. Maker, he was not a teenage boy, he should be able to control himself better than this! She was trying to share her very real pain and grief and here he was getting aroused like… _

_ “Cullen?” _

_ He snapped back to the present. Tara was staring at him, a slightly bemused look on her face. “Are you quite alright?” she asked, giving his hand another small squeeze, not helping matters one bit. _

_ “I'm fine, Tara,” he lied.  _

_ “You’re sweating.” _

_ He touched his forehead and realized it had become damp. “Oh, well, I suppose I might be wearing too many clothes...No! I mean...I mean I still have outer clothing on and we’re in front of the fireplace so…” He trailed off lest he continued sounding like a blithering idiot. This was infinitely worse than his conversation with Sera. _

_ If Tara noticed his blundering, she didn’t indicate it. Gently, she let go of his hand, and he missed her touch almost instantly. She rose and stood in front of him, pinning him with her clear blue gaze. “Cullen, I hope you know you have friends here,” she began, tucking her notebook under her arm, preparing to leave, “And you need never be hesitant to speak to me, ever. Whatever it is, I’m willing to listen to you. Understood?” _

_ Slowly, he nodded. “Of course, Tara.” _

_ “Good. Now, while I would greatly enjoy spending more time with you, I promised Cassandra sparring session.” She turned towards the door, but hesitated and turned back. “You know, you always tell me that if I need anything, I need only to ask. I extend the same courtesy to you, Cullen, because I care about you, more than you may realize.” Her lips turned up into a bright smile, making his heart race even more than her surprising declaration had, “I’m happy to have you in my life, Commander.” _

_ The door creaked as she exited, her black hair lifting slightly behind her. Cullen’s eyes remained on the door long after she had gone. _

_ For the first time in a long time, he actually felt lighter.  _

__


End file.
